


See You

by theLazarus



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy Hargrove Being an Asshole, Billy Hargrove Redemption, Developing Friendships, F/M, Inspired by Stranger Things (TV 2016), M/M, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-23 16:45:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19705405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theLazarus/pseuds/theLazarus
Summary: It's a tale as old as time.Billy Hargrove isn't someone you'd ever think you would fall for--sure, he's physically beautiful but he's also a chauvinistic pig, a macho man with an inflated ego and with one of the worst reputations around. You really thought you couldn't care less but then Billy allows you in and your perception of him is shaken. But how long will he let you in for?PS: there's no explicit mentioning of the reader, aka you, being either male or female, so take that as you will.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this back during season 2 of Stranger Things so with season 3 streaming now, I figured I would share this.

Sure, you had noticed Billy immediately--like everyone else had. The perfectly styled yet meaningfully unkempt hair; the tight jeans; the loud Mustang which he drove at dangerous speeds no matter where he was--all of this made him someone you absolutely could not miss. That first day, he stepped out from the driver’s side and did a little toss of his hair as he took a drag off his cigarette, smirking behind it, his big blue eyes sparkling beneath that strong brow.  
  
You definitely noticed.  
  
But you didn’t swoon after him like a lot of the girls, nor did you try to emulate him like some of the guys. You just let him be. You had English together, and he and you both sat in the back on opposite sides of the room. You would glance up at him from time to time, the end of a pencil sometimes dangling against his lower lip as he sometimes glared at your teacher. You didn't think he ever noticed you looking.  
  
He didn’t even say a word to you until you passed each other one day in the cafeteria, you carrying your bag lunch and Billy walking past with a can of pop. There was an indigo-colored bruise cradled underneath his left eye, which caught your attention and you admittedly stared at him as you walked past one another.  
  
“The fuck you looking at?” he growled quietly, to which you muttered “Sorry” but by that point you were out of each other’s sight. 

  


\---  
  
Watching Billy do the keg stand wasn’t surprising. You held your drink in hand, taking sips as he continued, then finally he was helped down, beer running down the muscles of his bare chest. He grabbed another cup and lit a cigarette and, as you walked by him, going back inside, he smirked at you.  
  
Well, I guess “at” you is presumptuous--but it certainly seemed that way. And you couldn’t ignore Billy when he sidled up next to you as you leaned with your back flat against the wall, your foot tapping with the beat of the music.  
  
“Are you enjoying the party?” he asked you, not slurring his words but his face definitely looked a little inebriated--his cheeks were flushed and his normal scowl was relaxed.  
  
“It’s alright,” you replied, then added, “Your keg stand was impressive, but I don’t need to tell you that, do I?”  
  
Billy actually smiled, not smirked. “I impressed you?”  
  
“Well, maybe I misspoke--”  
  
“No, no, it’s good to know,” he interrupted, smiling again. He leaned in so close you could feel his breath on your ear as he softly said, “I thought you didn’t give a fuck about me.”  
  
“I don’t,” you declared, but your defensive eye contact with him said otherwise.  
  
He tilted his head back almost triumphantly. “I’ve seen you look at me in English.”  
  
You chuckled awkwardly. “You’re mistaken.” You took another sip of your drink, looking away, then said, “I’m only impressed by how well you can pull off a black eye.”  
  
Billy’s face had fallen when you looked over at him. He leaned against the wall with you, a little slumped, and reached for his cigarettes, placing one between his lips.  
  
“I don’t think you can smoke in here,” you noted.  
  
“Then I’ll go outside,” Billy mumbled, adjusting his jacket over his shoulders and beginning to strut his way to the door. You hung back for a moment, then decided to follow--his lack of sobriety had piqued your interest.  
  
Back outside, it was quieter--more people had gone home or gone inside after the keg display. The stars were bright silver against the dark blanket of the sky, and the chilly air sobered you up from whatever the three beers you’d consumed had done.  
  
“Fuck,” Billy muttered, his hands rifling through his jacket pockets. “Can’t find my damn lighter.”  
  
You pulled your own Bic from your jacket pocket. “I’m only going to light yours,” you said, reaching for his pack of Camels and grasping one between your fingers. “If you light mine.”  
  
Billy smiled again. “Smooth. Very smooth.”  
  
You smiled back and extended your hand and he brought his face closer, his lips inches from your knuckles, and you lit his cigarette. He inhaled deeply, pursing his lips, then tilted his head back and exhaled the stream of smoke like an expert, and you watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat.  
  
He looked at you again, placing the cigarette between his lips, and raised his eyebrows suggestively. “I’m waiting to light yours,” he said.  
  
Your heart began to pound out of nervousness and, undeniably, excitement. You placed your own Camel between your lips and leaned forward to meet him, gently pressing the tip of yours against his and inhaling sharp, short breaths until the embers burned orange. As the smoke began to curl from both of your mouths he looked into your eyes and smirked again.  
  
You couldn’t help but be attracted to him. Yes, he was, without a doubt, one of the biggest, if not the biggest, dicks in school. Cocky. Entitled. A chauvinist. And maybe you were just getting swept up by his perfect genetics, but you did feel a certain magnetism when he looked at you.  
  
You both stood there smoking and not talking, just looking at each other, until you said, “I really wish I was as drunk as you probably are right now.”  
  
Billy raised his eyebrows again and chuckled. “You don’t know me well enough yet. I can hold my alcohol.”  
  
“‘Yet?’” you repeated.  
  
“Why don’t you get another drink?” Billy asked, dodging your question, his words slick.  
  
“Only if you’ll get one with me,” you replied with a smile.

  


Both of you were drunk by the time you left. You were surprised to find out that Billy hadn’t driven, but you were also thankful for that--he was in no shape to be getting behind the wheel, even if it was for just a few miles.  
  
You reached your house first, the only lights still on being the light of the front porch. You stopped and turned to face him.  
  
“Thanks for, uh, walking me home, Billy,” you said.  
  
“No problem,” he replied, looking at you then at the pavement.  
  
“What’s wrong?” you asked. “Can’t handle your alcohol as well as you thought?”  
  
“No, I, uh.” He stopped and chuckled. “I don’t wanna go home. My dad is not a big fan of underage drinking.”  
  
You looked at him in the darkness, with just enough light for you to see the faint remnants of the bruise beneath his eye.  
  
“You can crash here,” you said to him, turning on your heel so he didn’t have time to react, so you didn’t have to look at his reaction, knowing he would follow you inside.  
  
You crept up the stairs in the dark and led him to your bedroom, turning on the light to reveal the unmade bed and the floor littered with clothes and books. He looked around briefly then shrugged his jacket off his shoulders, the muscles underneath his clothes moving easily.  
  
“Nice place,” Billy said before sitting on the edge of your bed, starting to untie the laces of his boots.  
  
“I’ll be right back,” you told him. You almost told him to make himself comfortable but he already had you beat on that one.  
  
You peed quickly, the alcohol finally being released from my bladder, washed your hands, and swished and gargled with some Listerine. _Billy Hargrove,_ you thought to yourself, _Is in my fucking bedroom_.  
  
When you returned to your room, Billy was already nestled under your blankets on the side of the bed facing the rest of the room. His eyes were closed, so you took a moment to take a mental snapshot--the messy hair against your pillow, his mouth still slightly tense even in what is supposed to be a relaxed state, his right arm extended over top the blankets, the fingers slightly curled at the knuckles.  
  
You kicked off your own sneakers and crawled to the other side of the bed and sort of struggled with maneuvering to get under the blankets with another person already in bed, and also being in jeans, but it finally happened. Then you realized how close you were to one another--you were lying face up, but your left shoulder was flush with his right bicep. Finally you reached over him and turned the light off but, as you did so, Billy gently grabbed your forearm and wrapped it around himself, coercing you onto your side so you basically had to spoon him. He sighed as your bodies meshed together.  
  
You wanted to ask him if he was just that drunk, but you decided not to, and instead let your arm hang over him and felt the rising and falling of his chest, and rest your face just close enough to his head so that you could catch the smokey, piney scent of his hair.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't even read this now without thinking about Billy's storyline in season 3 and I am so upset.

The following school day, Billy completely ignored you. You guessed that you shouldn’t have been surprised, but it still stung. When you woke up the morning after the party, he was gone--it was as if he had never been there at all, except for the silver ring he had left on your night table. You carried it around in your pocket, absentmindedly fiddling with it from time to time.  
  
You were stung by Billy’s abrupt shift back into being the cold son of a bitch he was to everyone, including you. You kept waiting for him to glance at you or mutter something or even shove past you in the hall but he did none of those things. The only way you got his attention was by waiting for him after school, leaning your body against the driver’s side of his beloved muscle car, smoking a Marb.  
  
Billy looked around before he directed his attention to you. “The fuck are you doing?” he asked through gritted teeth, getting so close to you that your noses almost touched.  
  
You moved your hand back up to your mouth, the cigarette still burning, so that he was forced to step back.  
  
“You left something at my house,” you said, turning your head to blow the smoke away from his then angry face.  
  
“Then maybe you should give it back to me,” he said, raising his eyebrows, challenging you. “And walk home.”  
  
You took another drag and, this time, you let the smoke waft into his face. “I think we’re going to go for a ride,” you told him. “And then I’ll consider giving it back.”  
  
Billy shook his head and muttered some obscenities under his breath but didn’t stop you from getting into the passenger’s seat. He lit a cigarette and quickly put the car into reverse, peeling out of the parking spot, shifting into drive and shooting out of the parking lot and onto the street.

  


You two reached the park in record time, considering Billy had driven at least 20 miles per hour over the speed limit the entire time, smoking his cigarette in smoldering silence. He got out of the car without a word and leaned against the trunk. You followed, although you stood in front of him, staring not at his face but at the clenched fist at his side.  
  
“How did I piss you off that bad?” you asked him. “I let you sleep in my bed.”  
  
Billy stuttered incoherently for a second, then said, “Fuck off.”  
  
“What, is it because you let someone see you be ‘weak?’” you asked.  
  
He looked away from you, taking a drag.  
  
“I don’t have to like, be your friend or anything,” you told him. “You have your posse. You don’t wanna be seen with someone like me and ruin your image. I get it.”  
  
Billy unclenched his fist and hooked his forefinger into your belt loop and pulled you against him, your hips pressing together. He licked his lips. “My ‘image?’” he repeated, taking another drag, then tossing the cigarette aside.  
  
“You know what I’m talking about,” you said, still pressed against him, unsure of what to do with your hands so you just kept them in the pockets of your jacket.  
  
Billy parted his legs slightly and rested his right hand on your hip. Your breath hitched; he smiled.  
  
“You were a fun party pal,” he said, his lips almost brushing your jaw. “But did you think those sleepovers were gonna be a regular deal?”  
  
“No,” you replied, genuinely offended. “But it’s a little unnerving when someone just goes back to being an asshole after all that.”  
  
The smell of him was titillating. The cool autumn air rustling hair hair against your face, his scent wafting over you, the slight pressure of his palm on your hip. You looked away for a second, then managed to look at him again, his eyes sparkling with yet another challenge. It was clear to you that he was playing a game he had played a dozen times before.  
  
You broke away from him and tossed the ring into the air, which he managed to catch before it hit the ground.  
  
“Just fucking take it,” you said, starting to walk away.  
  
“Where are you going?” Billy demanded.  
  
“Home, where do you think?”  
  
There was silence for a moment and then he said, “Jesus, let me give you a ride.”  
  
You hesitated, but then turned back around and got into his car, hating yourself for your own defeat, scowling, not waiting for him, and lit a cigarette. He followed, fastening the ring back onto his finger, and began to drive off, only this time he wasn’t speeding. You didn’t say anything to each other until he was parked right outside your house.  
  
“Like I said,” you told him. “We don’t have to be friends.”  
  
Billy half-smiled, tilting his head as he looked at you. He took the cigarette from your fingers and took a drag, then handed it back, the feeling of his skin grazing yours like electricity.  
  
“I’ll see you tomorrow, kid,” he said.  
  
“Thanks for the ride,” you replied, getting out of the car.  
  
By the time you turned back to see if Billy was even looking at you he was zipping away, the muffler load, smoke clouding in the street. You sighed and tossed your cigarette butt onto the pavement, watching its own stream of smoke intermingle with the smoke from the Camaro.

  


\---

“Why were you talking to Billy Hargrove?” Jonathan asked you the next day as you sat on top of his car in the parking lot, picking at your lunches.  
  
“What do you mean?” you asked, unsure of where he was going with that.  
  
“Is he being a dick to you?”  
  
You shook your head. “No, he just, uh, he just needed some help with an English assignment.”  
  
Jonathan squinted at you.  
  
“What?” you replied defensively, shrilly.  
  
“Nothing,” he said, laughing a little.  
  
“He is a dick,” you mused. “But I think we’re, uh, bonding.”  
  
“‘Bonding?’” Jonathan repeated.  
  
“I mean, I’m breaking past the surface level, y’know?”  
  
“What’s beyond Billy’s surface?”  
  
“I’m not entirely sure,” you admitted. “But there’s something.”  
  
“He’s a player,” Jonathan warned, taking a bite of his sandwich. “Among other things.”  
  
You scoffed in defense. “Oh come on,” you said. “He’s not my type.”  
  
Jonathan shrugged, turning to face the looming architecture of the school. “Speak of the devil,” he said quietly.  
  
You followed his gaze and there he was, in all his denim-clad, jewelry-tinkling glory--Billy Hargrove--walking toward you. And it wasn’t just Jonathan and you watching him--it was everyone else, too.  
  
“Hey,” he said smoothly as he approached, glancing quickly at Jonathan then landing on you, licking his lips.  
  
“Hey,” you said back, and you could feel Jonathan watching you.  
  
“You mind if I borrow your friend for a minute?” Billy asked Jonathan, flashing a cheeky smile.  
  
Jonathan didn’t hide his eye roll. “Yeah, sure, Billy.”  
  
Billy started to walk away, toward the track field, and you gave Jonathan a puzzled look before you hopped off the hood of the car and followed Billy, your eyes glued to his backside.  
  
He turned around abruptly, leaning against a tree. “Can I have a cigarette?” he asked.  
  
“Don’t you have your own?” you asked.  
  
“I want one of yours,” he said, looking you up and down.  
  
You rolled your eyes but didn’t deny him. You removed the pack from your jacket and placed one between your lips, then handed the pack over to him. Before you could light yours, however, Billy’s hand was in front of you, extending the flame from a Bic.  
  
You shot him a bitter glance, then leaned forward and let his flame catch the tip of your cigarette, inhaling. He followed suit, lighting one of your Marbs for himself then handed the pack back to you.  
  
“What’s so important that you had to interrupt my lunch?” you asked, breaking the silence. You glanced over your shoulder quickly and saw Jonathan watching you.  
  
“I need help with that English paper,” Billy said, as if he didn’t even care that his lie was obvious. But at least he was playing into the lie you had told Jonathan.  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“Yeah, you know,” he said, gesturing with the cigarette in hand. “I just struggle with the introduction so much.”  
  
“It seems like you would have no issues with introductions.”  
  
Billy raised his eyebrows and grinned.  
  
“I have trouble with the middle too. And the conclusion,” he added.  
  
“How do you even know I’ll be able to help you?” you asked, tilting your head.  
  
“What grade did you get on the last paper?”  
  
“Uh, a C,” you stuttered.  
  
He smirked, taking a drag. “Nice try.” He looked at you through those thick, dark lashes. “So will you help me or not?”  
  
“Fine,” you said. “Meet me in the library after school.”  
  
“Sure thing,” Billy replied, taking another drag then removing his right side from slumping against the tree. “Thanks for the smoke,” he said before he sauntered away, leaving you to watch him before you walked back to Jonathan’s car.  
  
You exhaled and propped yourself back on the hood before taking a sip of Diet Coke.  
  
“So,” Jonathan prompted. “What was that?”  
  
“Billy,” you started, taking a drag off your cigarette. “Actually wants me to help him with his English paper after school.”  
  
“What do you mean ‘actually?’,” Jonathan asked.  
  
“I lied before. But apparently he does need help.”  
  
“Well, that makes sense,” Jonathan said, nodding his head. “I’m sure all that Aquanet has destroyed a few brain cells.”  
  
You couldn’t help but laugh.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Billy Hargrove asked me out I would think it was a joke...but he's pretty taken with _you_ ;)

“What do you think the green light represents?” you asked Billy in a hushed voice, the two of you sitting at one of the hulking wooden tables in the library. There were only a few other people in the room, and for some reason that made you more uneasy--like despite their faces being buried in books, they were watching you.  
  
“Greed?” Billy replied, resting his head in his hand.  
  
“Why do you say greed?” you asked. You could feel your thighs touching so you adjusted your seat, moving a little further away.  
  
“Green is symbolic of greed, right? Envy?”  
  
“Well, yeah, it can be.” You looked back down at the progress he had made on his own--honestly, it wasn’t terrible. And you didn’t want to tell him this but, most of the time for English papers, you just pulled stuff out of nowhere and hoped for the best. “I mean, you have a good start, here. I think you just need to expand on what you’ve already written.”  
  
“But do you think I’m right?” Billy asked. “About the symbolism?”  
  
“Usually in literature there is no right or wrong,” you explained.  
  
Billy actually furrowed his brow as if he was truly thinking deeply about all of that. “So how do I know if I’m writing a good paper?”  
  
“Well, you’re probably writing a good paper if you have good, uh, insight to back up your ideas,” you said. “And throwing in some multi-syllabic words doesn’t hurt, either.”  
  
Billy scoffed and then, after a moment of looking down at his paper, he asked, “What do you think the green light means?”  
  
You thought for a second. “I think it’s like, hope. I mean, Nick is so in love with Daisy, and since, when he looks at the light, he’s really looking toward Daisy, I think it represents his hope.” You stopped and then asked, “Do your friends know you’re with me right now?”  
  
He looked at you, his face shifting from contemplation to seduction, biting his lower lip, his forefinger tracing down the length of the piece of paper. “Why, do you think they’d care?” he asked.  
  
“I don’t think ‘care’ is the right word.” You paused again. “Would you care if they saw us together?”  
  
“I don’t care what they think,” Billy said and you believed him that time.  
  
You looked at him then looked away, nodding. You could still feel him looking at you so you returned the stare and asked, “Do you need anymore help?”  
  
He licked his lips and suddenly you felt his warm hand on your outer thigh.  
  
“Come out with me tomorrow night,” he said, gently squeezing your leg.  
  
You froze, your heart racing once more, your mind hypnotized momentarily by those blue eyes. You caught yourself and sighed.  
  
“I can’t deal with this hot and cold shit, Billy,” you told him, reaching underneath the table and removing his hand from your leg, although you desperately wanted our fingers to linger together. “Like, you said you had fun with me at the party. You slept in my bed. Then you ignored me, and now you wanna take me out?”  
  
Billy seemed unfazed. “Is that a no?”  
  
His calmness unnerved you and threw you off your train of thought. What would going out with Billy even be like? The options of what we would do seemed endless--he was an untamed beast, but that was exactly it: you would never be able to tame him.  
  
You sighed again. “No.”  
  
Billy raised his eyebrows and flashed that cocky smile. “Fantastic.”  
  
He made you nervous--but not in a bad way. “What do you have planned?”  
  
“Don’t you worry,” he said, getting out of the chair to gather his book and his papers, then gently sweeping his fingertips over your shoulder. “I’ll figure it out.” 

  


\---

All of Friday you were practically having tremors, you were so nervous. You had your own ideas of what Billy had in store for the two of you, but nothing was ever set in stone with him. You almost expected him to change seats in English to sit directly next to you, but of course he didn’t--he merely winked at you when he entered the classroom, and then once more when you glanced over at him, his ring gently tapping against the surface of his desk.  
  
Jonathan and you were, once again, sitting on top of his car during lunch. You assumed the constant checking over your shoulder gave away your nerves, revealed your anticipation.  
  
“What is it?” Jonathan asked.  
  
“What?” you asked back, turning to look at him, the look of concern permanently plastered onto his face--and you couldn’t blame him for that after everything he had been through.  
  
“You keep looking around.”  
  
“It’s nothing.” You looked at him again and gave in easily: “Okay, fine. Believe it or not, Billy is, uh, ‘taking me out’ tonight.”  
  
Jonathan blinked hard. “You’re kidding.”  
  
“Nope,” you replied. “But isn’t it hilarious?”  
  
“He’s a--” Jonathan paused for a second. “Jerk.”  
  
“I know, I know. He’s a dick to everyone, I know, but I do think there’s something there,” you replied, thinking back to Billy pulling your arm over his body.  
  
“Okay,” Jonathan said wistfully. “Just try not to let him drive you into a ditch.” He took a sip of pop and then added, “Literally and figuratively.”

  


“You changed your clothes,” Billy said to you as you stepped inside his car, only the nearby street lamp illuminating us.  
  
You paused to look at him. “So did you.”  
  
He had, indeed--he was still wearing his signature blue, tight jeans, but he had changed into a different button-up shirt. This one was maroon and slightly shiny but, of course, it was still halfway unbuttoned, leaving his chest and part of his abdomen exposed, his silver chain dangling beneath his collarbones. Over that, he had replaced his denim jacket for a faux--or real, it was hard to tell based on looks alone--leather jacket.  
  
He exhaled through his nose, slinging his arm over the back of your seat and leaning his head back, looking at you, his silver earring dangling over his cheek, the silver band on his finger resting on the steering wheel.  
  
“So glad you noticed.”  
  
You offered a sarcastic smile in response and then asked, “What’s the plan for tonight?”  
  
Billy just smiled back at you and put the car into drive.

  


You ended up at the local diner--you were surprised Billy was willing to go somewhere so popular and so public. The parking lot was pretty full although, you realized, most of the patrons would be older folk, since people your age were most likely doing better things with their Friday nights.  
  
“How did you even hear of this place?” you asked after we were seated, the vinyl cushion slightly sinking beneath your weight. “Have you moved through Hawkins that quickly?”  
  
“I’ve been here with Max,” Billy said. “A couple of times.” He pulled off the top of the paper wrapper with his teeth and situated the straw in his glass of water.  
  
You followed suit, although you didn’t use your teeth--the confusion and fluttering feeling in your stomach and throat ached for you to drink something.  
  
“How do you like it here, anyway?”  
  
He rested his left arm on the back of his seat in his typical fashion. “I miss California,” he said. “I don’t see one goddamn palm tree around here.”  
  
“I’m sure you had all the beach babes lusting after you,” you replied, although you really couldn’t imagine him on a beach. You couldn’t imagine him not wearing all-denim.  
  
He grinned for a second, then asked, “You were born here?”  
  
“Yup.”  
  
“So you’re biased.”  
  
“I guess by default,” you admitted. “But I try to keep an open mind about most things.”  
  
Billy grinned with the straw in between his teeth.

  


After sharing a plate of disco fries and Billy ordering two slices of apple pie and two cups of coffee, you both went up to the register to pay. The whole dinner had been fairly awkward--well, for you. For him, you knew it was nothing--he’d done this a million times before. The whole time you had tried to remind yourself of the confidence you had had at the park. Billy was just another person--he wasn’t a god, he wasn’t any more special than you were. He just happened to have better genes, apparently.  
  
You took out the small wad of cash you kept in your jeans pocket and Billy quickly and gently pressed your hand down, handing a ten and a five to our waitress, who had been eyeing your “date” lustfully all evening--go figure.  
  
“Keep the change,” he told her, adding on his smile as an additional tip, as you rolled your eyes.  
  
“I could have paid my share,” you told him as you walked outside.  
  
“Didn’t I ask you out tonight?” Billy replied.  
  
You responded with silence, then followed Billy’s stare into the wooded area that was a short distance away from the back of the diner.  
  
“Wanna go for a walk?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.  
  
You thought back to Will and Jonathan and fear flooded your veins for a moment, only dissuaded by looking into Billy’s glimmering eyes.  
  
“It’s too dark,” you said, which you thought was a perfectly reasonable point to make.  
  
“Oh, come on,” Billy said, nudging you with his elbow. He didn’t even wait--he just headed for the woods.  
  
You hesitated, your hands warm in your jacket pockets, then trudged forward, following him. Max clearly hadn’t told him about anything that had happened. How he was so blind to everything in this town was a little shocking, and yet you were envious of it.  
  
Fallen branches cracked as you walked over them, the dead leaves rustling and crunching under your feet. You could make out Billy’s silhouette and you followed that--he must have had better eyesight than you to keep moving forward like that without skipping a beat.  
  
You turned your head for a second to peer into the darkness, your eyes slowly adjusting to it and also making you see shadows and shapes that, you hoped, weren’t truly there. Then you abruptly bumped right into Billy.  
  
“Fuck,” you sputtered. “Don’t do that.”  
  
You still couldn’t see him very well, but you could still see his eyes on yours and the shiny silver in his ear. He grabbed you by your shoulders and tentatively and deliberately pressed your back against the tree behind you.  
  
“Billy, come on, it’s dark as shit,” you said. You weren't afraid of him--you were afraid of what might be around you.  
  
He kept your arms at your side and leaned forward, his face so close to you that he was almost nuzzling your neck. You felt the ever-so-slight graze of his nose and his breath on your skin.  
  
“Your turn,” he said.  
  
“For what?” you asked, once again intoxicated by his smell, by his confidence.  
  
“To make a move.”  
  
You could decipher his smile as he said it, his teeth visible. You maneuvered from his grasp and grabbed the back of his head, pulling him to you, your mouths finally meeting in a hard and desperate kiss. His hands gripped your lower back as you both parted your lips and your tongues met, your right hand in his hair, your left hand on his waist.  
  
When he pulled away you had to suppress the urge to pounce on him again. You held back your slight panting, keeping your hand on on his waist, feeling the firmness of his muscle beneath his clothes.  
  
“That was some move, kid,” Billy said and leaned in to kiss you again--softly--his lips lingering on yours.  
  
You pulled him against you, your hand moving from his waist to his ass, finally gripping the perfect blend of taut muscle and fat. As we kissed you felt his lips form into a smile, which only instigated you to grab onto him harder and kiss him with even more furor.  
  
The sound of a branch breaking led you to abruptly pull away.  
  
“What was that?” you asked.  
  
Billy slid his hands around your waist. “Probably deer.”  
  
You surveyed the woods around you. This time, what your eyes were seeing was real--a mass of black undulating through the trees, a distant and low growl. Your hand gripped Billy’s waist harder, your fingertips digging into him, the fight-or-flight response rising in your brain and you felt paralyzed.  
  
You watched the shape move slightly closer--how could Billy not notice it?  
  
“Let’s go,” you told him, grabbing onto his hand and yanking him along as you sped-walked through the woods, aware that the creature was probably hearing you, but you weren't going to stick around to make sure.  
  
“Why, what is it?” Billy asked as he was forced to follow along.  
  
You didn’t say anything until you got back to the parking lot. You felt safer beneath the lights of the building, but you knew that really didn’t mean much.  
  
“I thought I saw--” you couldn’t think of anything reasonable--fuck it. “I thought I saw a bear.”  
  
Billy smirked. “I may be from California, but even I know there aren’t really any bears in Indiana.”  
  
“Just last year someone reported seeing a black bear,” you lied, your eyes still checking up on the woods.  
  
“Sure, kid,” Billy replied, wrapping his arm around your shoulders.  
  
You tried to forget about whatever was in the woods--maybe your mind truly had made it up--and instead tried to focus on how soft and seductive Billy’s mouth was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realized that I never did anything else with the "monster" in this fanfic. I was too busy being a mental thot. My bad.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully you guys are still getting a kick out of this. I'm almost ashamed I let it sit in Google docs for so long.

You, Nancy and Jonathan were walking home together. The air was crisp and cold--winter was certainly approaching--we stepped on curled and crunchy leaves that littered the sidewalks as you told them about what you had seen and heard in the woods.  
  
“If it is something,” Nancy said, staring ahead intently, then turning to look at you, her eyes piercing yours. “We have to kill it.”  
  
“Will this ever let up?” Jonathan murmured, looking down at the ground.  
  
Nancy locked his right arm in hers. “It’ll be okay.”  
  
“Has Will been alright lately?” you ask him.  
  
Jonathan shrugged. “He’s still quiet. You know. But I haven’t noticed anything strange.”  
  
You sighed. “I hope it was just my imagination.” You really did. You didn’t want Jonathan or Will or Joyce or anyone to have to go through anything like that ever again--Barb was dead, Will was scarred for life, Hopper nearly died the last time, and you were sure Joyce was one incident away from a complete breakdown.  
  
“What did Billy think it was?” Nancy asked you.  
  
“I told him I thought it was a bear,” you replied. “But he didn’t buy that.”  
  
“I can’t believe you’re still hanging out with him,” Jonathan said.  
  
You opened your mouth to respond, but decided to keep what had happened between you and Billy.

“So what’s the plan for tonight, kid?” Billy asked you as he stepped inside your house, the living room dimly lit by the couple of table lamps you had turned on. He looked around as if he was remembering being inside, and seemed slightly uncomfortable with his lips slightly pursed and his hands in his pockets.  
  
“Well, my parents are gone for the night,” you said, walking over to the record player complete with the boxes of alphabetized vinyls underneath. “So I thought we could hang out here. My parents have a really good setup here, and I think you need to listen to something other than hair metal.” You turned back to him. “There’s also beer.”  
  
You felt sort of pathetic for trying to entice him with alcohol--and therefore giving him the option to spend the night--but you really did just want to be in your own element with him. Being in public with Billy was still uncomfortable and you still didn’t acknowledge each other much at school--you weren't sure what you were doing, but you wanted to hold onto whatever you could, for as long as you could.  
  
“You don’t like my music?” Billy inquired, raising his eyebrows teasingly.  
  
“I do like it,” you replied. “But I think you should broaden your horizons.” You walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge, grabbing two beers. When you returned, Billy was standing in the same spot. You thrust the beer at him and returned to the record player.  
  
You held up Depeche Mode’s _A Broken Frame_. “Prepare to experience the magic of synth.”  
  
Billy raised his eyebrows again.  
  
You didn’t wait for him--after putting the record on, you sat on the couch, relaxing your limbs, and cracked open your beer to take a sip. Billy followed, sitting next to you instead of at the other end. He cracked open his beer too and rested his hand on your thigh as he took a drink.  
  
His touch sent shivers down your spine, but you tried to ignore that and focus on the music.  
  
After a few minutes, Billy said, “Guess what grade I got on that paper.”  
  
You turned your attention to him. “B?” you asked.  
  
“B plus,” he said with a seductive grin.  
  
“I’m impressed. Glad I could help,” you said, clinking your beer can against his. “Cheers.”  
  
Finally he seemed to relax a little, sprawling out a bit more instead of sitting stiff, and he gently squeezed your thigh.  
  
Martin Gore sings, “ _And I won’t even touch you,_ ” and Billy stretches over you to place his empty beer can on the end table, the scent of his bold and sharp cologne mixed with the fragrance of cigarettes intoxicating you more than the alcohol.  
  
“ _I just wanna see you_ ,” Martin sings, and Billy gently guides your face to his with his fingertips.  
  
“ _Don’t you know that it’s true?_ ”  
  
You also placed your empty beer can on the table and leaned into his kiss, his hair tickling your face, his lips slightly chapped in the center. You grabbed him by his jacket and pulled him into you, your tongues meeting. He bit on your bottom lip gently, then kissed your mouth softly once more.  
  
Billy pulled away and sat on the center cushion, then pulled you onto his lap, your legs straddling his. He pulled you down to kiss him again, and you enthusiastically obliged, opening his jacket, unbuttoning the rest of his shirt and running your hands down his toned chest.  
  
You kissed his mouth, then his jaw and then you kissed the small space of skin just below his ear, your mouth moving down his neck, and without thinking, you bit and sucked on his skin. He moaned quietly, his hands gripping your shoulder hard.  
  
You pulled away, resting your hands on his exposed chest, and looked at the patch of red you had left on his neck.  
  
“Shit, I’m sorry,” you said, tentatively grazing the spot with your finger.  
  
Billy smiled and pulled you down again into a kiss.  
  
“It’s okay,” he said. “I don’t mind.” He exhaled and ran his hands along your back, but before he could fully grab your ass and pull you back down to another kiss, you grabbed his wrists and placed his hands over his head.  
  
“Billy,” you started, keeping your face close to his, your mouth dangerously close to his, staring into his wild blue eyes. “Do you realize I know nothing about you?”  
  
He didn’t try to escape from your grip. “What do you need to know?” he asked with a smirk.  
  
You had never been so turned on in your life. You were literally straddling Billy Hargrove--hell, you'd given him a hickey--and all you wanted to do was tear all of his clothes off and touch every inch of him. At that point, you were sure he would let you.  
  
“Why are you such a dick?” you asked, half-joking, half-serious.  
  
Billy leaned forward and kissed you quickly, then quickly maneuvered out of your hold and flipped you onto your back so he was straddling your waist, albeit slightly awkwardly since the couch made the space so confined.  
  
He kissed you again and then began kissing your neck, his hands travelling underneath your shirt, his fingers warm against your skin. Your breath hitched from underneath him.  
  
“What’s your favorite color?” you asked, trying to conceal a moan.  
  
He paused from kissing your throat, his hands still on your torso. “Blue,” he answered and resumed.  
  
“I should’ve known. All that denim,” you replied, your own hands softly gripping his shoulder blades.  
  
One of his hands moved from your torso to languidly move down to your thigh, grabbing at your hamstring before he moved up to your pelvis.  
  
“How much does it cost for you to fill up the tank in your Camaro?” you asked.  
  
Billy’s hand once again paused, this time hovering over your crotch.  
  
“Less than 20 bucks,” he answered and unbuttoned the fly of your jeans, sliding his hand underneath the denim as he bit down on your clavicle.  
  
“Fuck,” you hissed, pulling him closer to you, inhaling the smoky scent of his hair.  
  
“Why are you so nervous?” he asked, nibbling at your throat.  
  
“How can I not be?” you replied.  
  
“Do you want me to stop?”  
  
“No.” You said it too quickly, too eagerly. “No, don’t stop.”  
  
He smirked, his hand still idle. “No?”  
  
_What an asshole._ “Billy,” was all you said--you couldn’t say anymore.  
  
“What?” he asked and kissed your mouth as he slid his hand underneath your underwear, his fingers slightly cold against your warm and tingling skin.  
  
You grabbed a handful of his hair and kissed him roughly, your tongues meeting clumsily, him pulling on your bottom lip with his teeth as his right worked on you and his left hand lightly gripped your throat.  
  
As your mouths continued to mesh sloppily together and the movement of his hand became harder and more deliberate, you buried your face in his neck and bit down, your hands clenched around the fabric of his shirt.  
  
“Fuck,” you said sharply. “Billy--”  
  
You could hear the smile in his voice. “Say my name again. Say my name when you finish.” He removed his hand for a moment to spit on his fingers before resuming his motions.  
  
You laughed breathlessly. “Fuck you, you’re a fucking asshole.” But still you clenched his shirt and held him against you as you felt yourself peaking, and then finally, came. “Billy, fuck,” you exclaimed, pulling on his hair. “Jesus--”  
  
Billy cut you off, kissing you roughly, moaning a little into your mouth, and very slowly moved his hand away from inside your underwear. Your whole body shivered and ached in response--your breathing was finally slowing from its ragged pace and you moaned quietly.  
  
He brought his fingers up to his lips and sucked on them.  
  
“Good job, kid,” he said.  
  
“Fuck you,” you breathed, pulling him into another kiss and slowly removed his shirt entirely, tossing it onto the floor along with his jacket. You hadn’t noticed anything before in the heat of things but then you saw, with the record player still churning out Depeche Mode and the dim yellow hues from the tableside lamps, a large purple bruise on Billy’s ribs. You thought back to his black eye and to his drunken fear of his father and you lightly touched the bruise with the tips of your fingers.  
  
Billy recoiled, moving from on top of you to collapse on the other couch cushion.  
  
“Billy--”  
  
“What?” he snapped, grabbing his shirt and holding it in a crumpled ball in front of his stomach.  
  
You didn’t know what to say, really. You knew whatever you said would upset him in one way or another, so you just asked, “Do you wanna spend the night?”  
  
He got up and shrugged the shirt onto his shoulders and started to button it. “I gotta go,” he said and then grabbed his jacket.  
  
You got up, hastily buttoning up your jeans, following him to the front door. He wouldn’t turn to face you and when you reached out to touch his arm, he flinched and flung the door open.  
  
“Billy, come on!” you called out as he whisked away to his Camaro, but he didn’t look back.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE FINALE  
> ~~  
> Thank you guys for reading & commenting & leaving kudos! I really didn't expect this to get any traction so it's been very sweet. I love reading other Billy fics myself; it's nice to feel included.

Billy stopped glancing over at you in English. He didn’t even acknowledge you in the parking lot, or in the hall. He walked right past you as if you were a ghost. You couldn’t lie to yourself and say you weren't hurt--but who were you kidding thinking you two had been becoming something close to friends, or even close to lovers?  
  
You saw Billy and Steve pass each other as school let out, with Billy heading to his Camaro and Steve’s BMW. Steve glared at him with his brows furrowed while Billy smirked and clicked his tongue in response.  
  
Steve went up to you as you were headed to Jonathan’s car.  
  
“Hey, do you know what chapters we’re supposed to read tonight for history?” he asked, his eyes slightly squinted against the afternoon sun, already setting with the oncoming of winter.  
  
“Uh--” You had to think for a moment, having been so distracted all week by thoughts of Billy, the memory of his hand down your pants and your mouth on his neck. “Six and seven--I think. I can double check.”  
  
Steve waved the idea away with his hand. “It’s fine, I believe you. Thanks.”  
  
You nodded and, as Steve walked away, you turned to see Billy watching you as he leaned against his car, his cigarette smoking in the breeze. He sort of sneered at you, then opened the driver’s side door, got in and, within seconds, peeled out of the parking lot.  
  
“Still not talking to you?” Jonathan asked as you approached him.  
  
“Nope,” you replied with a sigh. “You were right.”  
  
“About him being an asshole?”  
  
You nodded.  
  
Jonathan shrugged. “You knew that already.”  
  
“Probably pretty stupid of me to think he and I could be friends,” you pondered, looking out at the road.  
  
“You’re too good to be friends with him,” Jonathan replied, following your gaze.

  
  


Nancy urged you to join her and Jonathan at Morgan’s party the next night--well, Nancy insisted you join and Jonathan pulled you aside to almost beg you to relieve some of his misery. You knew you would see Billy, but as long as you had Jonathan and Nancy, you felt mostly okay with whatever might come your way.  
  
It was a typical party and, like any other typical party, you were taking your time with your drinks and mostly hanging back. You had been able to stay by Jonathan’s side for a while as Nancy integrated herself with everyone else, but she eventually reeled him into some conversation about wherever whoever would be vacationing over Christmas break.  
  
You were taking a sip of your then-lukewarm beer when you saw Billy enter the living room with his arm wrapped around Heather Fischer’s waist. He had his signature look--tousled hair, dangling jewelry, the leather jacket over the half-unbuttoned shirt, tight blue jeans, boots. Heather looked good too--you felt a stab of self-consciousness when you saw her and saw a level of attractiveness you didn’t feel you met.  
  
You made eye contact with her so you smiled awkwardly and she smiled back. You almost wanted to tell her, “Watch out, he’ll make you cum and then pretend you don’t exist,” but you figured she would find out soon enough.  
  
You chugged the rest of the beer and crushed the plastic cup in your hand before turning around and heading into the kitchen, tossing it into the overflowing trash can, and then you stepped out the back door.  
  
The air was bitter it was so cold. Your breath left your body in smoky clouds; you wrapped your jacket tighter around yourself and fished a cigarette from its pack. After it was lit, you leaned against the brick siding of the house and smoked, listening to the muffled sounds of music and chattering voices, and the occasional gust of wind through the stripped trees.  
  
Only when you were halfway done with your cigarette did Billy Hargrove emerge from the back door, the voices and music suddenly amplified as he did so and quickly cut off entirely as the door shut. He strode toward you, his eyes boring into you, then leaned his left shoulder against the house next to you.  
  
“You couldn’t ask anyone else for a cigarette?” you asked, rolling your eyes as you took another drag.  
  
Billy reached into his jacket pocket and slapped the end of his pack against his palm before lighting his own. “I don’t need to bum off you.”  
  
“Thought you were done talking to me,” you said, taking an emotional leap, looking into his gleaming eyes that came back at you like two wildfires.  
  
“I saw you talking to Harrington,” Billy replied, exhaling a stream of smoke into the air, repositioning himself so he was directly in front of you.  
  
“So?”  
  
Billy shrugged, looking away as he took a drag.  
  
His deliberate indifference only infuriated you more. “He had a question about our history homework,” you said too loudly.  
  
“Is that right?” Billy asked, the sarcasm evident, as he flicked the ash from his cigarette.  
  
“Also, just so you know, Heather is a nice girl,” you said. “So I would advise you to either be just as nice to her or just, like, don’t totally ruin her night.”  
  
He cocked his head to the side and smirked. “You’re jealous?”  
  
“What? No.”  
  
“You are.”  
  
You tossed your cigarette butt into the yard and started to move past him, but Billy quickly tossed aside his own cigarette and pressed both his palms against the bricks behind you, causing you to back up and press yourself against the house.  
  
“Did you think we were exclusive?” Billy asked--his mocking tone was made worse by the fact that he was sober. “Did you think we were friends with benefits?”  
  
“I didn’t really think about it,” you replied, the adrenaline draining from your body, replaced by exhaustion. You sighed: “I just liked being with you. That’s it, Billy.” You looked at him and then quickly back down at the ground. “It’s fine if you don’t want me to, like, get to know you or whatever. But I still care, Billy.”  
  
There was silence for a moment, and then, “Why?”  
  
You looked at him--his face had softened but his body language hadn’t.  
  
“Because everyone deserves to have at least one person care about them, I think, and I don't--I just fucking care, okay?” you replied, feeling drained by the whole interaction. “Now can you please move so I can go back inside?”  
  
He slowly let his arms fall back to his sides but as you stepped around him, he grabbed your hand: “I’m sorry, kid,” he said, gently massaging your knuckles with his thumb.  
  
You paused--desire and sadness was simultaneously welling up inside your chest, heavy and wet like sand. “Go back inside,” you said, pulling your hand away. “And show Heather a good time.”  
  
You left him out there, knowing he wouldn’t immediately follow. Back inside the kitchen, you grabbed another beer and downed half of it in seconds. Billy reentered the room, whisking past you, your shoulders touching for a second, and you saw him find Heather in the crowd. He looped his arm back around her waist and grabbed a beer handed to him by one of his cronies.  
  
Your hard gaze was interrupted when Steve sidled up next to you, crossing his arms over his chest: “So,” he began. “Reaganomics--your thoughts?”  
  
“What?” you replied, drunk and completely caught off guard by the question.  
  
“For our World Politics presentation,” Steve explained. “Have you finished yours yet?”  
  
You sighed. “Shit, no.”  
  
“Me either.”  
  
“How are the kids?” you asked, slurring your words slightly.  
  
Steve smiled, almost beaming, at the mentioning of Will, Finn, Dustin, Lucas, and Max. “They’re good. Yeah, they’re good. You should see them sometime,” he said.  
  
“I’m only even slightly involved because of Jonathan and Nancy,” you reminded him.  
  
“Well, if anything, you should stop by and see Joyce sometime,” Steve told you. “I know she’d be happy to see you.”  
  
“Maybe I will.” You paused before asking, “What’s this feud between you and Billy?”  
  
“He’s an asshole,” Steve declared.  
  
You motioned for him to continue with your hand. “Correct. What else?”  
  
“He went after the kids, y’know? He’s not nice to Max. He’s a dick.”  
  
You shrugged back against the wall, taking another sip of your beer. “You’re not wrong.”  
  
“I heard you’ve been hanging out with him,” Steve said, raising an eyebrow at you, his mouth curved into a knowing smile.  
  
“I helped him with a paper.”  
  
“Right,” he replied, then gently squeezed your shoulder. “I’m heading out. See you on Monday. Think about Reaganomics.”  
  
He maneuvered his way through the crowd, stopping to say goodbye to Jonathan and Nancy, and then he strutted out the front door, leaving you still against the wall of the kitchen with yet another lukewarm beer in your hand.

  
  


After becoming sufficiently drunk and tired, you told Jonathan and Nancy you were leaving--Jonathan insisted he drive you home, but you told them it was okay, to stay and enjoy the party, although it was obvious Jonathan was having less of a good time than Nancy.  
  
The walk back home was cold and felt excessively long--your legs felt heavy and all your bones felt too loose in their sockets, like you were made of jelly and struggling to drag yourself across the pavement and to your front door. Your head was pounding slightly and you couldn’t even bring yourself to finish the cigarette you had lit, tossing it into someone’s lawn as you passed.  
  
Billy was waiting for you on the street outside your house, leaning against his parked car, his hands in his jacket pockets.  
  
“Oh my god,” you spat out, stopping in your tracks for a second before approaching him. “Billy, you can’t just stand outside this street in the middle of the night.” You slapped him on the arm as you said that, sobriety mostly at a loss.  
  
“I can as long as you don’t yell,” Billy replied, crossing his arms.  
  
“Don’t do that,” you said. “You’re already getting all defensive and I haven’t even done anything.”  
  
He relented, putting his hands back in his pockets.  
  
You sighed. “What is it?”  
  
“I’m sorry, kid,” he said.  
  
“I can’t do this, Billy,” you told him. “Not right now. Not while I’m drunk.”  
  
Billy looked down at the pavement, then back up at you. “Okay,” he said, and then reached out to brush the strands of hair that had fallen in front of your face back.  
  
That did it--the gentleness, in tandem with the gleaming silver earring and the soft blonde hair illuminated like a halo from the streetlight, those blue eyes, then cast in shadow. You grabbed the hem of his jacket and pulled him to you, kissing him messily and hastily. He removed his hands from his pockets and gripped your waist, and your hands grabbed his lower back, pressing your pelvises together.  
  
You broke away from the kiss. “I’m sorry I’m so drunk,” you told him, laughing at yourself.  
  
He smiled. “It’s okay.”  
  
You grabbed his unbuttoned jacket, clutching the material in your fingers. “Can you sleep next to me again?” you asked and rested your right hand on his chest. “You can sneak in like last time.”  
  
“Except this time, you’ll be the drunk one.” Billy slung his arm around your waist.  
  
At the door, you fumbled for your key, finally getting it into the lock and slowly opening the door, and both of you goose-stepped into the kitchen. Billy filled a glass with tap water and had you drink the whole thing, then filled it up again and it was he who led you upstairs and into your bedroom.  
  
You kept the light off but the moon and streetlights from outside allowed just enough visibility. You both moved like shadows--you took off your shoes and jeans and tossed your jacket onto the floor, Billy laid his jacket and shirt over your desk chair and kicked off his boots. You took a few more sips of water before you got underneath the blankets, and Billy followed.  
  
He laid his left arm over your side and nuzzled against your hair, gently biting the back of your neck. You inched closer to him so we was spooning you.  
  
“Everyone tells me not to like you,” you said. "Or even be around you."  
  
“But you do anyway.”  
  
“Obviously,” you replied, then turned onto your other side so you could look at him. “And I want you to know, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, but if you ever need somewhere to go, or--”  
  
“Thanks, kid,” Billy said, cutting you off, and rested his forehead against yours. “You really do give a shit, don’t you?”  
  
“Yes, I do,” you replied with a laugh. You reached your hand up to play with his hair, twirling it between your fingers, and kissed him softly on the mouth. “Promise me you won’t leave before I wake up?” you moved your hand down and rested it over his heart.  
  
Billy pressed your hand against his chest. “I won’t, kid,” he said. “I promise.”


End file.
